


Dry Glances

by chickens_for_AO3, Lough_Ness



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), RPF - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, I can only write angst, I wrote up to the ---, M/M, no happy ending, thats why the quality increases lmao, then its chicken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25466518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickens_for_AO3/pseuds/chickens_for_AO3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lough_Ness/pseuds/Lough_Ness
Summary: Sometimes saving the world doesn't guarantee a happy ending.For the CoG duo writing tourney, word prompts- Dry Glance.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55
Collections: CoG Writing Tournament Fics





	Dry Glances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chickens_for_AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickens_for_AO3/gifts).



George felt like he was walking on eggshells. Things were different now, he was different now.  
Small glances over, don’t look; the facade would shatter in a thousand, needle-sharp pieces, scratching at his soul, chipping away at what he had left, what he hadn’t given away.  
Small glances, don’t be confrontational, everything is okay! 

(Fuck)

George didn’t cry anymore. He had no more tears left to give; smiling painfully as he came home, blissfully ignorant and oh so frustrating George wanted to shake him, to shout ‘look at what we’ve done,’ and ‘was it worth it?’

There was no point in getting angry. Not anymore.

(George was a coward)

He wishes he could shout, scream, glaring into his eyes. Head on and full of righteous rage. He wishes. He’s so tired, too tired, he had nothing left, nothing but the aching void in his chest.

George didn’t think he regretted anything per se, hated- resented- the way his choices turned out? Maybe. But regret? He loved and treasured the time they had, the time that was theirs and theirs alone. Before everything went to shit and he was here, a ghost of himself, haunting the house they built together, and he was a shell of his former self- walking a tightrope of denial and instinct. 

Before was a wonderful time.

George hadn’t cried in months.

He hadn’t looked at him, fully and honestly, in longer.

Is this what the void is like? Empty, draining every last drop of life from your soul before discardarding of your body.

Did they die that fateful day? Was it truly a victory?

If he was going to die anyway, was it really worth it? Was it worth the glory? The pain? The hardships?

Maybe.

It had gotten him Dream, after all. And he couldn’t trade that, no matter how the world turned out.

\------------

He noticed how things started to fall apart. 

It was slow at first, George pulling away from hugs, leaving without telling him first. He barely talked above a whisper anymore, his gaze slow and listless. 

He remembered, the heavy thud as the dragon collapsed on the whitish stone, the stench of smoke, the flowing purple embers. The ripple of power through the air, as a portal was ripped open.

Things only got worse from there. From hiding wounds and leaving for days on end. Dream tried to help, different peace offerings, each met with a sigh and cheeks sparkling with dried salt. 

They had sacrificed everything to get to the end. Countless animals killed, days spent working in mines.

The stifling heat never really went away.

Dream knew they both wore scars. A slash on his cheek, a burn on his calf. They ached, a reminder of everything that had happened. 

The days rolled on, George becoming more distant. The loudest Dream had heard him in months- a screaming match. He came home with a bloody slice across his arm, gasping for breath. 

All Dream could feel was relief. He had come home, brown eyes clear, willing to say more than the minimum.

He couldn’t admit to how horrible it was, the house being quiet and empty. He missed the warm summer nights, the occasional chase, the different dyed hats his friend would share. 

Home was not here. Home was not quiet, home was not fear. He hated the way his own voice echoed, talking to the empty air. 

He heard the soft whisper of sheets moving, a shadow creeping down the stairs. It was early, watery light seeping in through the windows.

Dream caught George’s wrist, placing himself in between him and the door. “George,” He whispered. His skin was cold to the touch, bones standing out clearly.

George tried to step around him, again being blocked by Dream. 

“George.” His voice was firmer this time, grip barely tightening. He flinched anyways.

“What.” George’s voice was scratchy with disuse, the fragility surprising him. 

“What’s wrong?” Dream pleaded, moving his grip downwards, catching George’s hand in his own. 

“Nothing,” He said back, moving towards the door once more. He tried to tug his hand out of Dream’s grip, but he had laced their fingers together.

Dream tilted George’s chin up, studying his eyes. “Please,” he whispered, “Don’t leave.”

He saw the change, the soft brown eyes hardening into something sharp, something hurting. 

“Why not?” George’s hands were shaking, hard enough that Dream could feel it. “There’s nothing here for us, anymore.”

It hit like a blow, the sound stirring up dust. 

“Was it fun?” he asked, red-rimmed eyes wide, hands still locked in an embrace. “Was it worth it?”

“I didn’t know, George.” It didn’t feel like enough. “How could we have known?” 

“I-” He broke off, glancing between Dream and the door. “I can’t be here.”

“George!” Dream shocked himself with how loud his voice was. George looked at him, fully, truely, and his heart cracked. “We had to. You know that.”

“But at what cost?” The other’s eyes left his, returning to the floor once again. “We sacrificed everything, Dream.”

The sun was up fully now, bright against George’s sparkling tears. 

The air around them was stretched taut, a bowstring about to snap. Dream huffed a laugh, startling them both. 

“We’re both so stupid,” he whispered, reaching for George’s other hand. “We won, George! We’re free. We can leave.”

George let go of Dream’s hand, pulling away. “You call that a victory?”

Dream loved George, the thought sudden and clear against his swirling thoughts. 

But he knew. He knew their time here was over. Their time, spent pretending things could go back to normal, was over. 

Dream stepped aside, his mind carefully blank. 

George walked onward, the door snapping shut with a finality. 

And he left, his shadow dark and clear against the soft grass. 

Dream crumpled to the ground, shoulders shaking. He couldn’t even spare a glance at his friend, dappled with shadow as he entered the forest.


End file.
